


Put Your Money Where Your Matchmaker Is

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:12:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4097050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Hello, I hope its okay that I have another prompt for you: John and Lionel have a bet going about when Root and Shaw are going to get together and who is going to make the first move. John thinks Root and Fusco, Shaw. They both want to win, so they start subtlety trying to get their person to make the first move. This leads to some really really awkward conversations between Fusco and Shaw, and between John and Root.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put Your Money Where Your Matchmaker Is

“Give me that!”

Shaw’s indignant voice carries across the subway station to John Reese and Detective Lionel Fusco. Both look in her direction and see her rigid, eyes smoldering as she stands before Root. Root’s brown eyes are lit up with amusement, right hand lazily holding a food-cart sub, half unwrapped and a quarter of the way eaten.

“But I haven’t eaten  _anything_  today,” Root says in a contemplating way, eyes trailing between the sandwich and Shaw. A smile smirk curls onto Root’s lips, and she leans in slightly, sure to keep the sub out of Shaw’s reach. “What’s it worth to ya?”

“More than your teeth,” Shaw snarls with narrowed eyes. “Which I’ll gladly rip out if you don’t give. that.  _back_.” Shaw lunges forward, and her fingers almost graze the white paper; however, Root turns on the dime, whisking it once more from reach.

John and Lionel share a look, eyes saying the same thing:  _God forbid we ever did that._

* * *

 

Turning back to the scene before them, they watch Root take a bite of the sandwich, and Shaw’s ears billow steam. Quick as lightning, Shaw’s hand strikes out, swiping the sandwich and ripping it from Root’s grasp. Root doesn’t even fight it, just watches with love-sick eyes as Shaw gives her a final sneer.

Shaw turns the sandwich over in her hands, shifting the wrappings to the other end. Never one to worry about sharing or germs, the men know this act is to show a hot-headed point.

As Shaw begins to rip apart the meal, Root’s gaze never wavers. John, watching Root watch Shaw thoughtfully, barely feels the hand on his shoulder.

“We gotta go,” Lionel’s New York accent rolls into his right ear, and he turns. Lionel stows away his cellphone as he continues to talk. “Dead body up on Germain.” With a nod, John follows Lionel out, but his eyes keep peeking back at Root and Shaw.

Root sits in Harold’s desk chair, feet swiveling her back and forth in light arcs, head angled upwards and a poorly concealed smile on her charming face. Her gaze is directed at Shaw, who stands just beside her, leaning against the desk and munching away heavily. John can see Shaw’s free hand moving, mouth rattling off in speech, although he can’t hear a word. However, from the look on Root’s face, she isn’t missing a syllable. Her eyes are emotional waterfalls, affection pouring out at every angle; and John wonders- with a chuckle- how they aren’t all drowning in it.

“Don’t know how much more Shaw can take of that,” Fusco says once they are free of the station. The late morning sun is soft as it greets the two detectives. “She’ll be makin’ a move soon enough.”

“ _Shaw?_ ” John asks skeptically, a thoughtful frown coming to his face. After a few moments pondering, he shakes his head. “No, it’ll be Root.”

“ _That_  nut ball?” Fusco debates with a laugh. “No way in Hell.”

John gives a small laugh as he slides into the passenger seat, but the gears in his mind turn thoughtfully. “Shaw’s not the type to make a move.”

“ _No_ ,” Lionel corrects him, pulling the car into drive. “Shaw is not the type to  _flirt_. She’ll act; but I can’t say the same for your girl.”

“I don’t know, Lionel,” John says with a sigh in his words. “I think with the right boost to her mindset, Root would take right off.”

“Feel like putting your money where your mouth is?” Fusco asks with a Cheshire Cat smile curling onto his lips. “‘Cause, you know, I could definitely use a new suit.” John gives Lionel a side glance, and the hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. He sticks out a hand, and Fusco shakes it.

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” John says, slouching back into his seat with a cocky tone lacing his voice, “but the only suit you’ll be paying for is mine.”

_________\ If Your Number’s Up /__________

Walking down the street, Detective Lionel Fusco ponders the bet he’d made. How confident was he that Shaw- the emotionless soldier- would fess up to her feelings?  _Unlikely_ , he thinks with a sort of sinking in the pit of his stomach.  _But more likely than Root making that step,_  he adds on a lighter note. She could be a flirt and pound out the heart eyes all she wanted, but when it came to taking that extra step, Lionel knew she would wait for Shaw to give the green light.  _The only dilemma is to make the whole process faster_ , he says to himself.  _But how?_

Just then, he sees a figure emerge from the subway station, setting sun lighting her hair on fire while casting the rest of her in an elegant silhouette. Squinting slightly, he can just make out the woman in his sights.

“Hey, Shaw, got a minute?” Lionel calls out to her as she leaves the station. With their crime scene on Germain taken care of for the day, he was headed back to the station before calling it quits. However, to his surprise and delight, Shaw was headed home at the same time.  _The perfect opportunity_ , Lionel thinks as Shaw stops to look at him,  _to set the ball rolling._

“Can you make it quick?” Shaw asks with a lack of interest, but her body language suggests she’s really in no rush.

“I just wanna talk to you about Root,” he says, mind wandering to the bet.  _John never said we couldn’t encourage them,_  he tells himself with a humored smile.

“What  _about_  her.” Fusco’s attention snaps back to Shaw at the edge in her tone. Everything about her is neutral, but her words bite at his heels in a warning.

“Just want to know how you feel about her,” he tosses out casually, stuffing his hands into his pant pockets. The sly transition does not pass Shaw unnoticed, and her eyes narrow.

“How I  _feel_?” Shaw asks with bitter humor in her voice, then shakes her head. “No clue what you mean,” she adds more seriously. Lionel scoffs, winning him a hard sneer from Shaw.

“You’re gonna tell me how she talks to you has  _no_  effect?” He asks, and Shaw shifts uncomfortably.

“She’s only messing around.”

“Are you  _sure_?” Fusco questions, and Shaw’s lips twitches into a sneer, although she remains silent.

“She’s not gonna wait around forever,” Fusco warns her, and she freezes. Her jaw goes taut, body trapped in ice, annoyed flame frozen in place. Even the air seems to hold its breath, waiting for her move before continuing its course. Fusco can feel the slightest cold tingle snake down his spine, brow knitting minutely, mouth ready to spit out an excuse to leave. Slowly, Shaw begins to move once more, each movement calculated with eyes ready to kill.

“You should go now,” Shaw tells him in a low, heed-my-words voice, and he has half a mind to.  _But I’ve come this far,_  he tells himself with a flare of determination.

“I’m just trying to help yo-”

“I don’t  _need_  your help,” Shaw snarls, lip curling up in a growl. Fusco removes his hands from his pockets, giving her a shrug as he backs away. After he is out of striking range, he turns his back to Shaw, headed down the street.

“She won’t be single forever,” he calls out over his shoulder, not daring to look back for a reaction.

______\ We’ll Find You /______

Root awakens to sun in her eyes and a knock on her door. Sitting up, she runs a hand through her hair, sweeping it into a messy bun as she stands. Her feet dance across the cold, wooden floors of her apartment, and her bare legs scream with the early morning chill. Checking the peephole with a yawn, she smiles to see John Reese leaning against the wall, suave countenance on his handsome face.

“To what do I owe the pleasant wakeup call?” Root asks as she swings the door open, and he stands up straight to meet her. Giving her one look over, his eyes shift oddly, and his usual quip back is replaced by awkward muttering.

“I uh, can come around later,” he says, bringing a hand to scratch the back of his head. Root’s brow knits, and she looks down to inspect herself. She realizes it must be her attire: a large, baggy t-shirt coming just to the tops of her thighs, short boxers hidden entirely under the shirt’s fabric. A laughable grin comes to her face as she looks back at him.

“I see John Reese has finally met his match,” Root teases, beckoning with her hand for him to enter. “Co-workers in their pajamas.”

“Just thought you’d have been dressed already,” he tells her offhandedly, eyes wandering around the space. “You and Shaw are going out to watch a number at nine, right?”

“Mm _hmm_.” Root’s response is muffled behind her bedroom wall. “Why?”

He shrugs, then realizes his mistake. “Just wondering,” he says mildly. The bedroom door opens, and Root steps out with a brush as she sorts through her tangled, dark hair.

“Why are you  _really_  here, John?” She asks, putting it down on the kitchen counter. Leaning against it, she crosses her arms to give him a studying look.

 _How do I say it,_  he thinks to himself. He knows he and Root can have a lot of parallels in their mindsets, but is certain that this topic will require all the words to be vocalized.

“I want to talk to you about Shaw,” he says at last, and Root’s head tilts to the side, mane of hair cascading across her shoulder.

“ _Oh?_ ”

“It’s pretty obvious you have a thing for her, Groves.” He watches her face flush entirely, then her cheeks are overcome with a cherry red blush. Her eyes are widened, mortified, and every word is caught in her throat.

“I- I guess we’ve  _both_  met our match today,” she says slowly, forcing the shake from her voice. Out of all the times she’d thought of these scenarios, she never envisioned herself nervous.

“Why do you look so worried?” John asks, and Root shakes her head, as if that will keep the question away.

“Just… didn’t know it was so easy to read,” she replies, mind instantly going to Shaw.  _Can she see it? Is it pushing her away?_  The questions must reflect in her eyes, because John continues.

“Don’t feel, uh, bad about it. I mean, I can tell she has something for you too.”

Root’s jaw goes slack. She can feel the room begin to spin around her and has to ground her palms into the counter to keep from tipping over. Her pulse roars in her ears, and an exuberant but horribly nervous grin threatens to make itself known.

“You don’t- you don’t  _know_  that,” Root replies carefully, trying not to get her hopes up. John gives her a shrug.

“You should make a move on it; see what happens.”

The smile that threatened Root moments ago is forgotten completely, replaced by a stern defiance.

“No.”

John purses his lips, looking for some way to rephrase. Finally, it hits him. “The two of you are going out today, right? Well go out, and flirt with someone else. I’m telling you, she’ll get jealous.” He can see the gears turning in Root’s eyes at the idea, and continues with more steam. “That’ll be a sure way for you to know.”

There is another knock on the door, and both Root and Reese turn their heads to look at it.

“It’s open!” Root calls, tone casual but hand already a half-second from a large knife in the drawer.  _Just in case._ She hears it squeak open, then click shut, and a moment later, Shaw walks into the kitchen area. Her hair is let down, straightened save for a single wave at the end, and she wears a casual but elegant shirt and pants. Root finds herself gawking, and forces herself to blink, hoping Shaw didn’t notice.

She didn’t, her eyes are glued to Reese, hot burning questions searing her eyes.  _What are_  you  _doing here?_  They ask, Lionel’s voice ringing in her ears.  _She’s not gonna wait around forever. But John? No, she wouldn’t… would she?_

“What are you doing here, Sameen?” Root asks, a delight in her words at seeing Shaw, and she brings a hand nonchalantly to her own cheek, checking for the warmth of a blush.

“I thought if I got here early, we could walk down instead,” Shaw informs her, eyes meeting Root’s for a moment. She takes in Root’s bedroom attire, then snaps her eyes back to Reese. Her voice becomes flat. “But I see you have company.”

“Just two friends having a chat,” Root tells her, pushing off of the counter. “One minute.” She heads back into her room, closing the door behind her.

Shaw folds her arms, leaning against the kitchen wall with an easy-going disposition, yet her eyes are one gun fire away from war. She studies John at his now seated place on a kitchen chair, and he- feeling the heavy weight of her gaze- turns to look at her.

Root walks out to this same sight, the two looking at each other almost blankly, as if sizing each other up, trying to read each others closed off minds. Stepping past John, he gives Root a nearly microscopic nod, and a whole new wave of excitement and nausea crashes over her.  _Will it work?_

The three walk out of the apartment building- John heading north towards the station, and Root and Shaw heading West toward a nearby school track field- and begin their day. Stopping at the end of the block, Root can feel eyes on her. Peering over to her left, she sees a tall man at about five eleven, thick black hair met by olive skin and hazel eyes. He smiles at her, revealing sparkling teeth, and Root thinks of John’s plan.  _It’s now or never, I guess._

“Hey there,” the man says, voice smooth as silk and inviting as warm honey. Mustering up a flare of her charm, Root returns the smile kindly.

“Hi,” she says, looking him over. He wears a multicolored tank top and shorts, bright sneakers suggesting he is ready for a run. “Are you training for something?” She asks, and a light clicks on in his dazzling eyes.

“A ten k through the mud,” he tells her seriously, all the while the smile never leaves his face. “Pretty rigorous stuff.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Root nods in agreement, looking at the thick coating of muscles that cover all the visible parts of his body. From her side, she hears a hard cough, and sees Shaw simmering at her side.

“You a runner?” He asks, looking Root up and down. “You have a body like a runner.” Root widens her smile at the compliment, although it doesn’t reflect any amounts of joy.

“I run on occasion,” she answers, and Shaw snorts at her side.

“From operatives with automatic  _weapons_ ,” she mutters, and Root gives her a sharp elbow to the ribcage. She shoots Shaw an annoyed side glance, all the while her heart runs a marathon.  _So far, what John’s said is coming true._

“Well, if you ever need a running partner, I’m your guy,” he says with a wink, and Shaw is finally tipped over the edge.

“And  _who_  are you?” She cuts in, stepping out from beside Root to look this man over with a scrutinizing eye. His smile falters at seeing her, but he remains polite.

“Jefferson.” Turning his attention back to Root, both his features and tone soften. “Jefferson Davis.”

“Great,” Root says pleasantly. “I’m R-”

“Listen  _Jeffrey_ ,” Shaw cuts in with a distasteful tone, eyes sinister and lips pursed in irritation. “Sorry to cut off this little sidewalk meeting, but  _we_  have to go.” She puts an exaggeration on the ’ _we_ ’, then promptly sets out across the road. Root follows, leaving Jefferson behind without a second thought; whereas, he watches her go with a look of longing.

Catching up to Shaw, Root can’t help but smile at the jealous sneer on Shaw’s face. She decides to push her luck a little farther.

“He seemed nice,” Root throws the line out easily. Shaw takes the bait.

“For a man that dolls up in a high school track uniform to try and get laid, yeah, he’s  _wonderful_ ,” Shaw spits, ears reddening in anger. Root casts her gaze forward, chest ready to explode with the absolute joy and excitement within her.

_He was right._

______\ Put Your Money /_______

_I can’t believe he was right._

_That son of a bitch_ , Shaw fumes, hands curled into tight fists and eyes like daggers as she stalks back and forth around the block. Waiting, waiting for him. She checks her cellphone again, reading the messages over.

Me: Meet me at the second corner.

L. Fusco: Okay, something wrong?

Me: We need to talk.

L. Fusco: Alright, give me ten.

It’d been eight, and Shaw’s knot of anger had only been growing with the seconds.

 _What right does he have_ , Shaw rages, taking another lap around the block.  _To waltz around like he knows something he shouldn’t- but he did- and being right when he shouldn’t- but he was._

Their day watching the number at the track field had gone by uneventful. The man drilled his team through 400’s, 300’s, and 200’s for hours, while he set other kids to just plain running anywhere for the time, and then called them in for the end. All the while, Shaw couldn’t help but steal glances at Root, wondering what the hell was going on behind her coffee-brown eyes.

She seemed excited. Like opening the wrapping paper on a present you’ve always wanted. Her eyes were glowing with elated anticipation; her mouth fighting her the entire time on a smile.  _She won’t be single forever,_  Lionel’s words stung her brain like a hoard of angry wasps.  _Was this her finding someone?_

Shaw thinks back to the runner again, and a sick disgust bubbles in her stomach.  _I don’t pray or anything, but God please- if she’s looking around- don’t let it be him._  She remembers the sleeze seeping out of his every muscular pore and can still smell the stench of a con thick on his breath.

Walking past a shop filled with shut off televisions, she takes a moment to inspect herself.

Stoic. Hardened. Nothing. Nothing except the flame that rises in her eyes every so often- a flame that doesn’t even begin to vocalize the forest fire burning within.

Coming back up the block, she sees Lionel Fusco standing at the corner, and a new well of steam surges up in her. Eyes set and stomach tight, she walks towards him.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” She spits out as soon as she is within hearing range, and he turns a confused eye on her.

“I what?”

“Had someone come out and- and  _flirt_  with her in front of me,” she accuses, anger rising in her voice. Her muscles are pulled to the breaking point, ready to strike him upside the head. He must notice it, because he takes a step back.

 _What happened?_  He thinks, putting together what Shaw is telling him.  _Someone made an advance on Root?_  He smothers a laugh at the thought.  _I feel bad for that poor sucker._

“I didn’t have anything to do with that,” he informs her at last, voice solomn but mind giddy. It fit so perfectly into his motives, someone proving what he’d just explained to her, and all without him moving a finger. “Did she, you know, talk back?” He asks, pulling himself away from his thoughts, interested to know. Shaw glowers at him a moment more before the hostile glow in her eyes fades away.

“Yeah.”

Fusco’s eyes widen, the news hitting him like a baseball to the temple. Was Root really acting on what he’d said? He never actually thought Root would move on-  _she’s tripping over herself in love anyway_ \- so what would bring her to do something so uncharacteristic? Fusco thinks of John, that maybe he has something to do with it.  _Doesn’t matter either way_ , he decides at last.  _Whether Root is serious or egged on by John’s own agenda, it only helps me in the end._

“You need to figure that out,” Fusco tells her, a sudden urgence in his voice. “What did I tell you? She’s not sticking around.”

“What do I  _care_ , Lionel?” She asks flatly, although he can tell by the way she’s planted, she wants an answer. This isn’t some rhetoric that she’ll walk away from, somewhere in a hidden place within, she needs an answer. However, Fusco decides to play the cards otherwise.

“Maybe you don’t,” he tells her simply, turning away. “Maybe I was wrong about what I thought before.” He pauses. “Ah, well, it doesn’t matter.” He takes a step in the opposite direction of her. “It’ll be weird though, seeing Root dating someo-”

He feels a tight grip on his arm, sharp nails digging past his blazer and into his skin, and smiles. The hand pulls him back around, and he easily complies.

“Yes?” He asks in a mock-sweet tone, so sure of himself hitting a nerve, and Shaw has half a mind to deck him. She looks away at first, jaw clamped shut as she rolls her tongue across the inside of her cheek. When she finally looks back to him to speak, he words are begrudging and tight.

“If I  _were_  to… care, I guess, what… would you have me do.” A wicked smile curls onto his features, feeling the check and mate of this game.

“Are you telling me you  _do_  care?” He asks, like a schoolboy at the playground, talking to his friend about a crush.

“No,” she replies sharply. “But I don’t want her walking around with the  _bozo_  that tried with her.” She looks over his shoulder for a diversion, and something catches her eye. Two figures emerge from the subway station, talking animatedly and stopping just outside of the station as their conversation heats up.  _John and Root. Big surprise._

“I don’t know,” he answers her. “It’s almost six, take her to dinner or somethin’.”

“ _Dinner?_ ” Shaw asks. “Like a  _date_?” Shaking her head, she lets out a cruel laugh, but her eyes never leave the duo down the street. “What do you think they’re talking about?” She asks in a much calmer tone. Lionel turns to look in the direction of her gaze.

“Maybe she’s telling him about her new boyfriend?” He suggests, and Shaw gives him a bone shattering punch to the shoulder, pushing past him as she heads their way.

_____\ Where Your Matchmaker Is /_____

“I told you she would be,” John says as he steps out of the subway station after Root. She has an energetic tick to her, even when she’s standing stationary, she can’t seem to stay still. Too many questions are darting around in her mind.

_What does it mean? Should I ask her why she was acting so weird?_

“What do I do now?” She settles on that singular question at last.  _And here, I thought I’d never be asking John for advice._

John seems to think it over deeply, crease heavy on his brow in contemplation. “Make a move,” he says, and her eyes widen slightly.

“Are you  _sure_?” She ask, coming to worry. She’d never felt so jumpy about Shaw before; she’d assumed justification would relax her muscles, not wind them tighter. “I don’t think I should be-”

“Do you know  _why_  she’s jealous?” He asks her in that level tone he has. The tone that makes you believe anything he says as fact.

Root comes up with a few measly ideas, but in the end, shakes her head with uncertainty.

“She doesn’t know.”

Root cocks her head to the side. “Doesn’t know what?”

“How you feel.” Root waits silently, and he continues. “ _We_  know,” he says, gesturing between the both of them, “but  _she_  doesn’t know. She only thinks you’re messing around with her. That’s why she’s possesive. Jealous.” Root lets the idea bounce around in her head, letting the possibility of it sink in.  _That’s why she seemed so mad._

“What should I say?”

John, hearing someone approach, looks past Root’s ear and out to the street. There, he sees Shaw stalking forward with the speed of determination but the body language of a commoner stumbling into some friends. He sees Fusco watching from a far corner, and it clicks into place.  _It’s show time._

“You’ll figure it out,” he tells her, and Root- taking in his cryptic tone and smirking eyes- turns around. Instantly, her body freezes up, Shaw only ten feet away and lessening. “I’ll leave you two to it,” he says almost inaudibly into Root’s ear as he passes. He and Shaw share a quick nod in greeting as they pass; John going to Lionel, and Shaw to Root.

“Hey,” Shaw says, leaning against the railing of the station’s entrance, eyes collected but searching. Root feels a nervous tingle shooting down her spine, never so nervous to talk to the woman across from her. However, she swallows it down with a smile.

“Hi, Sweetie,” she coos, waiting for the eyeroll she knows will come. It doesn’t.

“We, uh, need to talk,” Shaw tells her, and Root’s smile falls quickly away. She sighs.

“Yeah, I need to tell you something too.” Shaw nods for her to go ahead, but she finds the words are lodged deep into her throat. Root shakes her head, “no, you first.”

Shaw gives her an odd look, but remains silent. An awkward silence falls over them, and Root wants terribly to break it. She can feel something- something wrong and different. Shaw, usually so collected and fearless is holding something back.  _But what?_

At the same time, they seem to hit a realization.

 _This is where she gets mad and leaves_ , Root dreads.

 _This is where she tells me she’s taken,_  Shaw knows. Both feel the urgent need to get their words across, before the other has a chance to give them the dreaded news.

“Do you want to go out some time?”

“I’m not messing with you, alright?!”

The outbursts sound at the same time, a jumble of syllables crashing in the middle; yet somehow, both recieve their messages clearly.

“Wait, what?” Root asks, at the same time as Shaw’s,

“Hold on, you  _what_?” They both look each other over, trying to understand what has been said, and Root seems to get it first.

It hits her like wrecking ball, tearing down all of her worried walls and leaving her ecstatic. A smile rushes to her face and her cheeks ignite with the red of a dangerous sunburn. “A date?” She asks, a mixture of happiness and smugness in her words, eyes on fire coyly. Shaw instictively hardens.

“People need to eat, you know,” she says a little too defensively, much to Root’s delight. Shaw can feel her ears growing hot under Root’s affectionate gaze, and changes gears quickly. “What was that, that you said to me?” She asks with an open politeness, amused at seeing Root’s features turn abashed. “Or how about why.”

“Well… John said to tell you something, and that’s the first thing that came out.” The words rush past her lips, never letting her take a single breath.

“Wait, wait.  _John?_ ” Shaw asks with a hint of surprise, and Root nods.

“That’s what he’s been talking to me about. Telling me that you…” she trails off sheepishly, groping for other words. “To make an advance and see what happens.”

Shaw purses her lips, contemplating. “Lionel’s been telling me the same thing,” Shaw says aloud, mostly to herself but loud enough for Root to find things suspicious. She turns to face the two men on the corner, just to find them having a small argument as they come forward.

“It was definitely, Root, didn’t you see the smile?” John says coolly, and Fusco scoffs.

“She was smiling because  _Shaw_  spoke first,” he argues. “So pay up.”

“Pay  _what_ ,” Shaw demands, and the two men stop to look at her. John meets her gaze evenly, but Lionel bites the inside of his cheek, eyes darting around anywhere but Shaw’s smoldering gaze. Shaw brings her hands to her hips threateningly, and a moment later, Root steps up from behind, putting her hand on Shaw’s shoulder as she leans dangerously on one leg. Both women wait expectantly.

“ _I_  think they had a bet going,” Root says with a fatal air in her tone, reading their reluctant expressions. “On us.” Both drop their previous stupefaction at the other’s confessions, all attention onto squeezing the rope tighter around the two detectives.

“You act like it was a  _bad_  thing,” Fusco huffs at last, and John gives a slight chuckle at his partner’s fluster. He looks the two over with a scholarly eye.

Shaw stands, defiant and bristling with fury, eyes narrowed and lips clasped tightly together. But she doesn’t try to swat off Root’s hand, nor pull away from the close proximity between them. If anything, her stance is leaned slightly that way. Just behind, Root wears a scowl, but her eyes smile amiably. One ready to kill them with punches, the other with gratitude.

With a sly smirk, he brings his gaze to Lionel, who peers over at him at the same time. John lets two thoughts speak through his eyes.

 _What have we done_ , and  _good thing we did it._


End file.
